


Ode to Brother

by misCOWculation



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aftermath, Aftermath of a Case, Angst, Broken Families, Gen, Mental Institutions, Muteness, Post-Canon, Rehabilitation, Wheelchairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misCOWculation/pseuds/misCOWculation
Summary: The briefest look into what Light left behind through the eyes of an outsider.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 11





	Ode to Brother

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I couldn't help myself. I tried, I really did, to stop myself from diving even further into this fandom, but I'm suffering from Death Note withdrawal.

There is a brick on the floor, chipped around its edges. Surrounding it are shards of glass, and Arima Wakana is careful not to prick her finger as she nudges the glass out of the way, palming the brick. She takes a step back, regarding the graffiti on the walls. It's fresh. She can still smell it.

Arima sighs, her brow creasing. This is not unusual. She wonders what the Director had been thinking when he renamed the place to—

"The Royal Kira Institution," she mutters under her breath, clenching the brick. It's just an invitation for trouble as far as she's concerned—Kira is discomforting at best, and violently controversial at worst.

She hands the brick in to the lady working on the front desk, dumping the responsibility of telling management what happened to her. As far as Arima is concerned, it's just another Monday morning.

Kira has ruined lives. Arima will withhold judgement on his actions for now (and maybe forever), but she knows one thing is for sure—Kira has ruined lives. And now that he is no longer here, Kira's Kingdom is in shambles and the society has fallen back into a lull of monotony as they try to pick up the pieces.

Arima has never done anything in her life to warrant Kira's wrath.

Then again, she's sure many others are wholly innocent but suffered anyway. Only, their undeserved punishment isn't death—it's watching their loved ones drop down like flies on the whim of a self-declared god. It is terrifying, how Kira makes death so _easy_.

But that's just life now.

Normally, she tries to ignore what is happening around her. If that makes her complicit to the humanity's collective suffering, then so be it. It's not her responsibility to look after other people's gardens when she has to tend to her own.

 _And hers_ , she thinks as she knocks once before opening the door to the Yagami Room. It is the biggest room Arima has ever seen dedicated to a patient before. If anyone has earned it, though, it is them.

Yagami Sayu and Yagami Sachiko.

Sachiko is sitting by beside her wheelchair-bound daughter, stroking the back of her hand. The woman is only forty-seven, if Arima remembers correctly, yet she looks just shy of sixty. It is cruel, how her aging seems to be concurrent with the burdens she carries.

Her husband is dead.

And her son—

Also dead. As of three days ago, Yagami Light is also dead. She doesn't know how or when or why. Hasn't even met the man before, but she knows for a fact that Yagami Light was loved. Loved, treasured, and gone too soon. She dares not ask Sachiko how the funeral went.

A part of Arima despises Light. Because she has never once seen Light drop by to visit Sayu, when one of the only things she was able to speak aloud was his _name_. Because it's like part of their existence—Sachiko and Sayu's—had hinged on him. And now that he is gone...

Progress has moved backwards as a result.

Sayu will no longer utter a single sound. Sachiko fills the silence with quiet, one-sided conversation.

As Arima closes the door behind her, hugging her clipboard close to her chest, Sachiko looks up from tracing circles on Sayu's skin. And as she looks at them, their pitiful, hunched forms, she asks herself, _What will become of them?_ Will they ever be able to move forward? Look toward the future? Or have their souls left their bodies, leaving only human shells behind?

"Doctor," Sachiko says, her voice trembling. "Good morning, doctor."

"Good morning," Arima returns the greeting, softly. "And how are you today, Sayu?"

Sayu just stares at the wall.

She has lost weight, Arima notices. The institution supplies her with all the necessary vitamins and nutrients for her to stay healthy, but they will never be substitutes for real food.

Arima sets her clipboard aside and repeats her greeting through JSL—Japanese Sign Language. ' _Good morning, Sayu.'_

Halfheartedly, Sayu signs back. ' _Hello.'_

_'How are you today?'_

_'I'm.'_ Sayu drops her hand abruptly and resumes her staring, her eyes growing faraway and listless.

Arima tries not to let her disappointment show. She turns to Sachiko and says, "Breakfast will be served soon. After that, she will have speech therapy with Doctor Makoshima, followed by lunch, rehabilitative physiotherapy, free time, and then dinner." Every day, Arima comes in to tell Sachiko the same thing. She has no doubt that, by now, the older woman remembers it all by heart. How can she not? It's the same thing every day.

_It would drive a sane man insane._

But Sayu is not sane. Not anymore. She is damaged. Not quite beyond repair, but if she is allowed to continue like this, she will be.

Arima Wakana is not Yagami Sayu's main doctor. She's only on the team because she is the only one who is fluent in JSL and capable of teaching it to patients. Sayu has opened up to her further than she has with any other doctor or nurse. It's not much, but it's still progress.

 _Baby steps_ , Arima reminds herself. _Baby steps_.

True to Arima's word, a nurse comes in with breakfast shortly after. It's all mashed and pureed stuff, and Sayu doesn't even eat most of it, but they bring it in every day without fail.

Sachiko feeds her daughter wordlessly, one hand lifting a spoonful of orange mush to her lips and the other stroking her hair gently.

Arima looks away.

She isn't sure if she should be privy to such melancholic intimacy. She has never known the touch of a mother, or even a father. She has grown up parentless, and the bond between Sayu and Sachiko is alien to her.

She holds nothing but pity for the Yagami family. Or what's left of it, anyway.

It's just them now—mother and daughter and a doctor who is more doll than human.

Arima shouldn't be here.

It should be mother and father and son and daughter. Sachiko and Soichiro and Light and Sayu. Arima has only met Soichiro once, but she knows he is a good man who loves his family. And Light... She can't say much about him. Can't say much about a man she has never met before. On Sayu's nightstand is a family photo. In it, Light is handsome with kind eyes.

_Was._

Because they're gone.

Arima shouldn't be here.

But she is all they have, anyway.

A pale imitation of what was once whole.

* * *

On Friday evening, Arima goes drinking by herself. Saturday is her day off—her only day off in the whole week—and she intends to start it tomorrow by being hungover in the morning.

She takes a seat at the bar she usually frequents.

The bartender slides her her usual, and she slides him the cash.

In her peripheral, she can see _him_.

She doesn't know when he started showing up, but now he's a permanent fixture in her lonely Friday nights. Maybe she'll take him home and kick him out the next day. Arima sips her drink—a classic dry martini.

Her seat neighbour's tie is loose around his neck, and she can see how flushed his cheeks are, even in the dim lighting.

Arima has many things she wants to ask him.

"Who are you?" Blunt and straight to the point, as her coworkers typically knew her for.

The man lifts his head up to look at her with world-weary eyes. Not quite as empty as Sayu's, but almost there. He's seen things. _Done_ things, even. Arima decides she won't be letting him anywhere near her apartment.

"Matsud— _Matsui_ ," he slurs.

"Kira's gone, you know," Arima tells him, even though she is not sure if that is true or not. The killings can easily begin again. Kira has taken breaks before. But this time, Arima just has a feeling he won't be coming back.

"Oh, yeah," Matsui—or whatever his real name is—says. "I know. I _know_. Believe me, I know."

"I believe you."

He buries his face in his arms, and Arima is horrified to see that his shoulders are shaking. He's crying. Why? Why? Arima has seen patients cry before. Hysterically, in fact. But there is normally some warning before it. Some sort of sign.

"Sometimes," Matsui says, tongue loosened by alcohol, "I wish I had shot _him_ , instead. I'm a monster, right? His own father vouched for him. _Died_ for him. For _nothing_. But even so, sometimes I still wish I had shot the _other_ guy. Idiot," he's berating himself now, "Idiot, idiot, idiot. That's all I am, right? An idiot. Ryuzaki was right. He was right all along, about him and about me."

Arima doesn't know what to say to that.

So she gets up and leaves.

She doesn't have it.

The heart to care for more than one person at a time. There's not enough room inside.

But then she pauses. And turns back once—only once.

"Matsui-san," she says. "It'll never get easier. But that's good. Killing should never be easy."

* * *

Arima Wakana is rather new to the Royal Kira Institution. She has never headed her own team of doctors, only ever worked alongside them as a supporting member. She has never formed real connections with any of her patients, except for—

Yagami Sayu is outside today.

It has been two months since her brother died.

The garden is vast and peaceful. Arima feels at ease here. Perfect for those with wastelands for minds.

A butterfly lands on Sayu's finger, and she observes it with great interest. Maybe Arima is imagining it, but she thinks Sayu is smiling. Sayu and Smiling Sayu are two people Arima is unable to totally reconcile. In Sayu's only family photo, she is grinning with all her teeth. Light is smiling in it, too, but it is tight and restrained.

And Kira had snuffed them out.

She received the official story a few days ago, from Sachiko.

Light had fought to make life hard for Kira till the very end, Sachiko had said. He received a hero's funeral, ashes buried right next to his father's. Two heroes, side by side. Two dead heroes. Because that's the only thing that matters, in the end—dead or alive. Light and Soichiro are dead from their own actions—actions lauded as heroic instead of stupid like they really are (because _who_ would want to go after such a prolific serial killer?)—and Sayu and Sachiko are paying the price of their poison.

Kira's poison.

Arima has always been indifferent to most matters. Politics, social justice. She does not like discussion or discourse because they are often unintelligent and founded by blind fury. But now, she is starting to realise.

How _evil_ Kira really is. Really was. Really had been.

 _Good intentions,_ thinks Arima, dourly. _They pave the way to hell._

And Kira can burn in hell for the rest of eternity for what he has done to this family. She hates him. She kind of hates Light and Soichiro, too, for throwing away their lives. Loved, they'd been. Treasured, they'd been.

Arima wants to be loved. Wants to be treasured.

They had it all, but they threw it away.

Wasted potential. Wasted opportunities. Wasted _lives_.

 _Will they ever love again?_ she wonders as Sachiko pushes Sayu around the garden pathway. _Will they ever_ be _able to love again?_

There is a great hole in her heart. It threatens to swallow her whole.

Sayu notices her and signs something.

_'Good afternoon, Arima-san.'_

And despite herself, Arima smiles. _'Good afternoon, Sayu.'_

* * *

_"Light."_

It's the first word she's spoken ever since the news of her brother's death reached her. Arima, in the middle of folding clothes into Sayu's tiny closet, pauses and gazes at Sayu with wide eyes. Sachiko is away today. It's just her and Sayu.

Sayu's bottom lip trembles and her mouth moves to say, once again: _"Light."_

Light. _Light, Light Light_. God, he must have been perfect. He must have been perfect for Sayu to love him this much.

But he's not. _Wasn't_. He got himself killed, and Arima hates him for that.

Sayu deserves better.

She deserves a brother who's actually _alive_.

One who is ready to hold her tight, stroke her hair comfortingly, and tell her everything will be alright because he will protect her. Did Light do those things when he was alive? He must have. He _must_ have.

Arima gets off her knees and shuffles over to Sayu. She turns her wheelchair around so that they're both facing the window with a view of the garden. Butterflies. It's spring now. There are butterflies everywhere.

"Sayu," Arima asks, hoping to prompt more verbal conversation, "You miss Light very much, don't you?"

Sayu nods. Her voice is hoarse and raspy from weeks— _months_ —of disuse. "I miss him. I miss Light."

"What was he like?"

"Good."

That is the first thing she says about him.

That Light is good. _Was_ good. That can mean a lot of things. Arima waits for her to continue, but she never does. She realises that Sayu is done for the day. Arima offers her a gentle smile. "I believe you." She peers over her shoulder to look at the family photo. They're all so happy in there. It frustrates her. Kira ripped apart a happy family, and for what?

But—

Good.

Light was good.

That comforts her.

Maybe he did deserve her, after all.

* * *

Summer is giving way to autumn when Sayu starts walking again. Walking longer distances without the help of crutches. Her legs are still weak, though, and Sachiko and Head Doctor Makoshima walk on either side of her to catch her if she falls. Sayu rarely needs their help, though. Kira's poison still runs in her veins, but it is more diluted than before.

Sayu is going to be okay.

It may take even more months. Years. Decades.

But, eventually, Arima has faith that she will be okay.

Arima is watching from a distance with a crumpet and a sports drink as Sayu crosses a small wooden bridge with the help of her mother and doctor. The hem of Sayu's shawl flutters in the breeze.

The atmosphere shifts.

Arima stiffens, then whips around.

A man is standing under the trees, eyes half-hidden by his brown hair. He is wearing a suit.

His hair isn't moving in the wind.

A chill goes down her spine.

She knows this man. She has seen him in Sayu's family picture, smiling, but never with his eyes.

"She'll be fine." Arima manages to find her voice. "You don't need to worry... Yagami Light."

Light doesn't say anything. Arima thinks she's hallucinating, probably from the lack of quality sleep she's been getting. She resolves to cease her Friday nights out at the bar with poor, drunk Matsui. Because she's seeing things, and—

Light exhales sharply. _"I'm glad."_

Then Arima blinks, and he's gone.

She turns back around just in time to see Sayu waving to her, pleased that she is about to finish another lap around the garden.

Limply, Arima waves back.

_Good. Yagami Light was good._

Sayu is right.

Tension eases out of her shoulders.

Arima takes a bite out of her crumpet.

They will be okay. Maybe nothing in the world Kira left behind is okay, but—

A world where Yagami Light once existed will be okay.

She hears Sayu laugh. For the first time in months, Arima hears Sayu's giggle.

And it is enough.


End file.
